Painted in Pastel
by Zo One
Summary: Roxas always knew he was a sap. But whenever he looked into those vivid green eyes, he never realized how deep it all went.


**Painted in Pastel**

_Zo_

Roxas always knew in his heart that he was a sap. He knew that when he felt lonely in the middle of the night he was feeling forlorn, and he knew that when he saw the leaves falling to the ground in autumn, that he wanted nothing more than a warm hand in his.

But, when he looked into those devious green eyes and felt those strong arms wrap so protectively around him, he hadn't thought he was in it so deep.

-o-

He grew up around the world. A summer in Japan, winter in England, and fall in their penthouse apartment in France – it was always somewhere new, and growing up it had been both devastating and exciting.

Growing up in a multi-millionaire home (verging on, and soon to become billionaire estate), Roxas had many privileges and more restrictions than his young mind could fathom at the time. His mother was the lead of one of the most famous bands to tour the world; his father was a five-star chef with a long chain of restaurants beneath his thick belt.

Needless to say he hardly saw his parents – his mother far less than his father. His mother had reached her peak of popularity when he turned five. He couldn't remember seeing her more than every other month until he was nine. He grew up with his nit-wit nanny and his tutor (because it was always heartbreaking for the boy when he had to leave his friends behind). Each Christmas he received only the best, state-of-the-art gifts – usually his mother wasn't able to be home. He wasn't permitted to go outside; there were too many paparazzi scandals, and his mother was damned if she were going back to jail again for assault.

He lived a rather lonely life, but made the best of it as any child who didn't know better.

At the age of fifteen his mother and father moved into a more permanent residence in a small town named Fairfield, Vermont. His mother loved the color change of the fall and would stand out on one of the balconies as the sun began dipping its way down the sky, strumming lightly on her acoustic guitar.

The very same guitar that she would pluck heavenly sad melodies from in their living area in the middle of the night, those first few years after his father died. He was eighteen when it happened. One morning they woke up, and his father didn't. Three days later they found out he had a massive stroke as he slept. His mother had cried for a week straight, holding the old, worn guitar he'd given her all those years before.

By then he'd seen everything – or so he'd thought. He'd snuck out of the house, partied until he dropped and was brought home by the town police the next morning, he'd tasted everything from escargot to grilled cheese and had an acute taste for music and an amazing sense of musicality. He'd mastered the piano and was a whiz with a computer. He had a long list of experiences to conquer, but love wasn't one he had thought of. Not until that day.

His mother had been lounging sideways in her favorite leather plush chair, strumming idly at her six-string, nursing a small glass of gin. "Hey hun," she'd said – even after years of crooning and screaming into a microphone, her voice was still soft and melodic. "Any plans for today?" A customary question.

"Not really," he'd answered, he grabbed a pillow and fluffed it up before simply tossing himself onto the couch in a bored fashion. "Isn't it a bit early to be drunk?"

His mother laughed – a sad sound, despite. "Not drunk yet." She took a long swig of gin, hissing in a breath of appreciation. "Well, we've got a new guy running around here," she'd said, her fingers moving along the neck of her guitar before simply stroking out a chromatic scale. "This house is too big for an old soul, a brat, and four pairs of hands."

Roxas rolled his eyes at her. "You hired a maid, I take it?"

She nodded; her blonde hair was turning a light flaxen shade in her older age. Roxas remembered when it had been as golden as the sun. "Sharp as ever. Why don't you go and introduce yourself? Since you have nothing better to do – and maybe you can take the opportunity to warn him about touching your underwear when he does laundry?"

He had shot her a glare from ice blue eyes – eyes that, like a glacier in the ocean, had an unseen depth and majestic beauty to them. They had reminded his mother so much of his father. She looked away and strummed more intently on her guitar.

He let her be, sensing her sudden, but not unexpected mood swing. He had decided to take her advice and introduce himself to the new help. He was by no means rude, or a snob. In fact, most of the time he was quite jealous of 'normal' people; they lived an almost idyllic lifestyle. But that was the sap in him speaking.

He finally found the mysterious man in the second floor master bathroom, scrubbing the white tiled floor with a soapy sponge and large, yellow, rubber gloves covering his lithe hands. Roxas had leaned against the entrance, watching the nicely dressed man (as was household policy) with a gentle smirk. "Hello," he had finally decided to say, after listening to the man grumble to himself.

The man jerked his head around, a long bundle of red, red hair held back in a ponytail whipped around. "Uh. Hi?"

Roxas had smiled at his first sight of those livid green eyes, the tender curve of his nose, his thin, expressive mouth. He had wished he could be that attractive – even while scrubbing floors. "Hi," he had started again, this time with a more nervous voice. "I'm Roxas; I thought… I'd introduce myself – since you'll be working here. I guess."

A smile more brilliant than any sunset he'd seen in his life bloomed its way onto the redhead's face. "And here I thought all rich kids were jerks. I'm Axel."

"I'm not rich," he'd said reflexively, his eyes automatically tossing to the side to stare at the yellow wall. "I'm not a multi-platinum musician. I just benefit from it – I didn't earn it."

Later Axel admits that was what drew him to the blond.

-o-

"Axel," he looks up into the taller man's gorgeous eyes. "It's almost been two years."

The older man releases a breathy laugh, snuggling closer to his love, trying not to fall off the hood of the car they were resting upon. "Yeah." He places a single, warm kiss to Roxas' temple. "_And forever the skies will be painted in pastel._"

-o-

The first two weeks that Axel had worked as a maid, Roxas had taunted him relentlessly. He hadn't known _why_ he'd done it, but he enjoyed picking on the redhead whenever he had opportunity. The flustered look Axel would get had been absolutely priceless. But the fun ended just as quickly for the blond when Axel had completely stopped reacting to his rouses and he had figured he'd better move on and be somewhat more civil.

"Good morning."

The redhead had stopped picking off a bit of grime from a dish to send the blond a leery look. "Mornin'. You look… pale. Did you sleep last night?"

Roxas had shrugged. He hadn't wanted to say anything – nothing about how last night he couldn't sleep because it was exactly a year ago that his father had died in his sleep. It was a day of mourning.

Secretly he was afraid that if he slept on that night – he'd die too.

Axel frowned at the reaction. He was used to the blond being rowdy and unashamed – this quiet side bothered him. Without giving thought, he pulled a hand from his dish water and flicked soap suds at the blond. "Wake up," he had almost commanded.

"Huh?" Dazed, the blond blinked, wiping off a wisp of bubbles from the bridge of his nose. "Ha ha," he had grumbled darkly. "I could fire you for that."

The redhead grinned, his personality and genteelness warming Roxas' cold mood. "I doubt it," he had said with a happy glimmer in his eyes. "You love me too much."

Roxas had said nothing.

-o-

During Axel's first fall working, Roxas had searched the entire house for the redhead, looking rushed and somewhat excited. "Axel?" he had called out meekly into empty rooms. When he had finally found his upstart friend, he was rather exasperated. "Come here! Hurry!"

By now, the redhead had become accustomed to Roxas' rather erratic behavior, and followed him throughout the house anyway, out and into the backyard.

Roxas pressed a finger to his pouty lips, his eyes brimming with wonder and sadness. Soon, as they crept along the thick grass, Axel heard the light strumming of a guitar; smooth melodies smothered his senses with nostalgia as a very familiar song filled the air around them. Sad, sweet; intoxicating.

"_And there I saw you_

_You saw me; inside._

_The skies were painted in pastel_

_There borne a love that none could quell."_

Roxas ushered him back indoors as the song slowly drifted away. The melodic voice from the balcony drowning. "Mother," Roxas has said when they got inside. "Wrote that song about when she and father met. It was around this time of year."

The hearts of both men ached from that day on.

-o-

The stars smile down upon them as they huddle closer to each other, belying their dismal situation. Roxas buries his face into the redhead's neck, their noses a light pink color from the nipping cold of the season. "How long do you think it'll last?" he asks; his face innocent and scared.

Axel simply holds him close.

-o-

Their first kiss had been in the kitchen.

Roxas' mother had spent most of the day lounging in the living area, drinking and muttering dark, hateful songs as she plucked out discord on the only guitar she ever bothered to use in her retirement. Axel had noticed that for such a strong willed person, Roxas was highly attuned to the emotions of those around him. And that, sometimes, upset him – when the dear blond would be thrown into a depression simply because his mother chose to drink and gurgle her days away.

In attempt to lighten his favorite blond's mood, he'd asked for some help with the chores in jest – shocked when the blond agreed and began to sweep the kitchen floor rhythmically: one, two, three – one, two, three, as if he were dancing.

"Are you okay?" Axel had dared to ask.

Roxas stopped his waltz with the broom, his eyes dark and as open as a book. Is all Axel wanted was to take all the pain he saw there – to take it and smash it until it gave up and left and never came back to haunt those beautiful eyes. "I'm… scared for her," he had said in a tiny voice.

Axel's arms ached to hold the fragile blond.

He had watched as frightened tears spilled from those eyes and quickly answered his body's wish, pulling the blond close to his chest.

Their kiss had been hesitant and tender, but it was nothing less than magical to both of them.

-o-

Small tears run down the curves of his round face. Axel wipes them away with a loving hand. "It'll be okay," the redhead promises with a smile that lights up his entire face.

Roxas believes him, pressing his supple lips to Axel's, feeling vulnerable for the first time in a long, long time. "Mother did the same thing once," he says slowly, after they part. "She served almost a month in jail."

"Well," Axel breathes out a heavy sigh, little puffs of white breath form in the cold air. "I'm not a multi-platinum musician," he says coyly, "So… let's triple the sentence – just to be safe."

An uncertain smile hooks onto the blond's face, and Axel traces it happily with a cold finger. "We're moving back to France," he says, even though the redhead already knows. His mother had fired him not too long ago – after the scandal. She told Roxas that she was tired of such a small town.

But he knew, deep in his heart, that she was tired of the fall – seeing the vivid tree leaves. And every afternoon the pastel painted skies that remind her so much of what she'd lost.

He wasn't going to lose _his_ skies painted in pastel because of her.

"I'm coming back to you," he says, lifting his eyes to see Axel's joyous ones. "I promise."

They held each other close, the car radio playing faintly underneath them. If Roxas pressed his ear against the glass of the windshield, he could hear a familiar voice crooning lovingly away…

"_You and me we're not the world_

_Don't listen to those who can't know._

_Throw off these shackles; it's time we rebel_

_And forever the skies will be painted in pastel."_

-o-

_**A/N: **_So, I'm not dead. :) It's a little short – perhaps a bit choppy in places, but I'm kind of hoping someone can guess what's going on here. And if you can – well, great minds think alike. xD


End file.
